


To be or not

by Tashilover



Category: Cabin Pressure, Hunger Games - Fandom
Genre: Gore, Major character death - Freeform, Violence against Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 10,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin couldn't blame them.</p><p> </p><p>A Hunger Games AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Martin fantasized about it sometimes. He knew on some level it was sick and disrespectful to those who came before him but he couldn't help it. When the day was long and the sun hot, his mind would go elsewhere.

First he would begin with his name begin called. He'd imagine his mother gasping, maybe crying at the announcement. He would take two steps towards the stairs, towards the Peacekeepers, and suddenly he would stop when his brother's voice would ring out with, "I volunteer myself as Tribute!"

It was always Simon who volunteered, not Caitlin. Martin never put her in his fantasy, because she was too young or maybe because she was a girl, he wasn't sure.

But that was where the fantasy always ended. No matter how many times Simon cried out "I volunteer!" in Martin's fantasy, Martin never let it go any further than that. Not in even in the privacy of his own mind would he let his siblings take his place.

Most of the time he'd imagined himself in the arena.

Would he live? Would he die? Who would he kill and how would he do it? Sometimes he'd imagine himself as victor, bringing honor to his district and food to his family, never having to worry for the rest of his life. But if he was being true to himself, he knew the most likely outcome of his being in the arena would be falling down a cliff, breaking a leg, and dying by infection.

On some level, he knew this was sick. He didn't need to fantasize about his own demise, or the demise of others. Every day life was harsh enough, he didn't need to add onto it with his morbid fantasies.

So he pushed away those thoughts and focused on his work, helping his father and mother with the farm. He helped Simon with his homework, helped Caitlin with her reading. With so many other children in the District, Martin was so confident he wouldn't be chosen, he didn't give the Reaping much thought, not even on the day of.

But when his name was pulled out of that giant glass ball, his fantasies didn't come true. Nobody volunteered for him.

He couldn't blame them.


	2. Chapter 2

There was pot roast. Sweet potato. Fish soup. Garlic bread. Pasta covered in olive oil. Fresh bread. Mountains of fruit. There was glazed ham. Baked chicken. Boiled turkey. Suckling pig, roasted quail, steamed duck. There was chocolate cake. White frosted eclairs. Honeyed biscuits. Cinnamon buns. Waffle bars. Strawberry tarts. Blueberry pie.

And that was just the food Martin could identify. There was so much more he did not recognize. He glanced over to Nancy, saw she had the same shocked look on her face. There was more food here than Martin or Nancy had ever seen in their lives. He didn't know where to start.

He went with the closest thing to him: some kind of chicken dish, swimming in orange sauce. He popped a piece into his mouth and immediately groaned. It was delicious. Nancy followed suit, grabbing a plate and started piling food on. She then filled a glass cup with water- the clearest, coldest water Martin had ever seen in his life- sat down on at the dinner table and dug in.

Martin wanted to be more choosey. Even if he took just the tiniest amount from every dish, his plate would be filled to the brim. He wanted to grab what he wanted to try the most, what looked most delicious. After a minute of selecting, Martin sat down with a full plate.

They ate in silence, only the noises of their slurping, gulping, and munching could be heard. As soon as Nancy finished her plate, she got up to get seconds. Martin ate slower, savouring every bite.

Peter Duncan watched them with a little satisfied smile. He didn't touch the food- he must be used to eating so rich since his win over thirty years ago- instead choosing to focus on his pipe. He puffed it slowly, and propped his feet up on the chair in front of him. The window of the train was open to allow the smoke bellow out.

He didn't speak until Martin was done with his third plate, pushing it away and sighing in satisfaction. "Enjoy it," Duncan said. "In a month, you may be dead."

The smile drained off Martin's face.

"I'm not here to scare you," Duncan continued, not at all apologetic in his voice. "I am here to get you ready. So ask me any questions you have."

"Who has a better chance of survival, me or him?" Nancy asked.

Martin choked. Duncan had to slap his back a few times, though he had nothing in his throat, and after a few sips of water, Martin gasped out, "W-what?"

Nancy didn't even have the gall to look offended. She shrugged, and popped a piece of fruit into her mouth.

"At this moment, it's you, Nancy." Duncan said.

"Hey!" Said Martin.

"Just being truthful, Martin. Nancy here has already shown signs that she's going to fight for survival. That doesn't mean you won't have a chance, but you nearly choked to death just now."

Martin opened his mouth to argue that. It was the truth, but...

But...

He didn't have an answer. It was true, if Martin had to admit it, he was not prepped for any type of battle. He attended to  _vegetable gardens,_  for god's sake. He wasn't even old enough to go into the coal mines like Simon. Martin had some strength to him, muscle definition on his arms, but he was the same height and possibly the same weight as Nancy. Despite all his fantasies, he has never ever truly considered killing someone.

And from the way Nancy was staring at him, Martin could tell she has fantasized. If it was legal, she probably wouldn't hesitate climbing over this table, steak knife in hand, and stabbing Martin in the neck with it.

He was alone in this.


	3. Chapter 3

"God, what's in your  _hair_?" Carl growled, his fingers digging in deep. "It feels like oil!"

Martin didn't want to tell him it actually  _was_  oil. His family couldn't afford enough soap for hair. To keep it clean of mites and other little annoying bugs, Martin slathered in a small amount of oil every morning. Yeah, it was gross and slimy, but at least his head was free of lice.

He wasn't going to tell Carl that. Carl kept squeezing on more shampoo, determined to wash out every bit of oil. His gentle fingers had long lost its patience for soft scrubbing, and dug into Martin's head.

"You're hurting me..." Martin said.

"Yeah? Well, you're hurting me with this hair! God! This is disgusting!"

Martin would yank away but kneeling on the floor, holding his ankle in a death lock and cleaning his toes was Diego. Diego was quieter, though no less determined in his eagerness to get Martin cleaned. By now Diego has already shaved off all of Martin's leg hair, hair from his toes, knuckles, and plucked his eyebrows mercilessly. An hour earlier, Martin was subjected to a teeth-whitening machine, where his lips were stretched out as three women bleached his mouth.

"Ah, finally!" Carl said, rinsing out the shampoo from Martin's head. "Now I can cut!"

They put decorations on his nails, little gemstones of moons and stars. They applied lipstick, blush, more gems against the sides of his eyes. They sprayed perfume on his skin, and when Martin protested, stating he wasn't a  _girl_ , Carl huffed at him.

"You're not  _man_  enough to wear cologne! So be quiet and be grateful!"

The beautification process took hours to get through. By the time they were done, Martin felt raw and naked. Nancy certainly looked beautiful, with the gemstones catching light each time she moved or blinked. When she looked at him, nothing in her face said she approved of  _his_  looks. She was just as cold as day one.

"You look wonderful," Martin said.

"Shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi, a lot of these chapters will be pretty short. I'm having fun with this. =)


	4. Chapter 4

As requested, Duncan gave Martin files on every single Tribute.

For a good half hour, Martin didn't touch the files. He knew he was going have to, sooner or later. Inside each folder held the names and faces of each  _child_  he may have to kill. Was it a good idea to know and memorize these names? Will they be on his tongue when they're shoving a spear into his stomach?

Martin reached for the first file.

He spent the next hour going through each folder, reading up on the Tribute's names, their height and weight, and trying to assess which one was most dangerous. Duncan said Martin should also read up on how some of these Tributes got chosen. Those who volunteered for their siblings or friends are the ones who were going to fight the hardest.

The first volunteers were, of course, from District one. Martin couldn't even think of year in which District one did not volunteer. Martin could see the girl, Ruth, being a viable threat. She was tall and strong looking. The muscles in her arms showed how long she had been preparing for this.

However, the boy was a stranger pick. Lesman. He was fat and ugly, and while Martin was sure he wouldn't be able to fight Lesman head on, he could definitely outrun him. Both Tributes were sneering arrogantly in their photographs. Martin knew these two were not going to be merciful in the Games.

Another volunteer was from District four. The randomly picked boy, Arthur, was the youngest of all the Tributes, only twelve years old. Martin couldn't believe his luck. His first year in the reaping and he got chosen immediately.

But the girl, Carolyn, was his older sister. As soon as Arthur's name was pulled out, she immediately volunteered. Unlike District one, Carolyn had somebody to fight for, to die for. She wasn't going to go down without a fight.

The last volunteer was from District seven, a boy named Douglas. He didn't volunteer for a brother or sister, he volunteered for reasons of his own. Perhaps a chance to win more food for his family. The file didn't say. Martin knew in the upcoming weeks Douglas' reasons for volunteering will be brought into light through the interview process.

No more volunteers after that. The other Tributes were picked randomly.

Martin placed down the files, and rubbed a hand over his exhausted eyes. All of these Tributes were around the same age as he was. They looked like normal, simple kids.

How was Martin expected to kill these people?


	5. Chapter 5

Martin was practically dancing on his toes, he was so nervous. Ahead of him, most of the Tributes had already gone, done with their interviews. Some of them had given amazing interviews, with perfect answers, perfect smiles, making the audience laugh with knee-slapping results.

Like Linda, a red-headed girl from District Two, who was so amazingly beautiful in her gorgeous blue gown. She enchanted everyone with her beauty and her goodnatured personality. If Martin was pushed to admit it, he fell in a love a little.

Then there was also Hercules, from District Ten, who was as handsome as he was charming. He was the oldest of all the Tributes, seventeen, but he was clearly much older in spirit. His responses were so smooth, it was like he had been giving interviews for years. He certainly made some of the younger women in the audience swoon with his voice.

Then came Arthur, from District four. Small, stout boy, with short hair and a plump nose. When he came out in front of the cheering crowd, he was waving his arm happily, loving all the attention. He was so young.

He sat down in front of Oskar, the interviewer for this year's Games. He was an older man with a sunny disposition. He was like Father Christmas, so carefree and happy. "So, Arthur, how do you feel being the youngest in the Games?"

Arthur shrugged. "I dunno, honestly," the boy said. "The other Tributes are only a few years older than me."

"Are you afraid of things to come?"

Arthur shook his head. "Oh no! I'm here with my mum, so I don't feel scared!"

"Your mum?" Oskar said, surprised. "Who's your mum?"

Arthur cocked his head in confusion. He then pointed over his shoulder, to behind the stage. "Carolyn. My mum."

There was a pause, and everyone started howling with laughter. Arthur frowned at everyone's response, pouting as the laughter grew worse.

"Mum?" Martin said out loud. That was impossible, Carolyn was only four years older than Arthur.

After the laughter died down, and Arthur was led off the stage, still frowning in confusion, Carolyn's turn was next. Maybe she'll offer up some answers.

Carolyn walked on stage, cool as a cucumber. Unlike the other Tributes who were smiling, waving, or nervous to all hell, Carolyn looked like she had done this a million times. The green dress she wore complimented her pale skin, and the blue glitter in her hair.

"So, Carolyn," Oskar began once she sat down. He paused dramatically, glanced over to the audience, then added, "or should I say,  _mum_?"

The crowd laughed. Carolyn didn't so much as blink.

"Tell us, why does Arthur refer to you as mum and not sis?"

"That's none of your business."

Martin felt the same cringe at the same time as the audience. Carolyn was not going to win any brownie points with sponsors if she kept up this line of defensiveness.

"Awww..." Oskar said, trying to save the interview. "Don't be like that. The people at home are simply curious."

"The people at home are willing to see a twelve year old be brutally murdered for their entertainment. I don't give two shits what they want."

That response got a collective gasp.

Martin watched as Carolyn stomped off the stage, leaving a stuttering Oskar in her wake. He couldn't believe it. Why would she do something like that? While Martin could admire her for her brutal honesty and fearlessness, nobody was going to sponsor her now. A single gift from one sponsor could mean the line between life and death.

His District was up next. Nancy was going to go first, then Martin. "Good luck," he said to Nancy as she prepared herself to go up on stage.

"Shut up," she said.

He didn't know why he kept trying to be so friendly towards her. Maybe he too should be adopting her attitude. Martin looked up to the screen, and just as Nancy walked on stage, waving to the screaming crowds, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

It was Peter. "Martin," he said. "I need to talk to you."

He sounded dire. A sense of unease pooled deep into Martin's stomach, expecting the worse. "What, what's wrong?"

Peter took a small breath. Then he said, "I just got word from your District. I'm sorry, Martin, your father just died."

Someone from behind him told him it was his turn in two minutes, but the words didn't register. He felt emotionless, dull. It took him a few seconds to gather the energy to speak. "What? H-how?"

"Heart attack," Peter said gently. "It happened yesterday night. I just got word."

"District six, you're up!"

Martin didn't move. He was still too stunned to speak, to think. "I..."

A hand grabbed him by the elbow and started hauling him up the steps to the stage. He passed Nancy, who saw his face. She frowned, asked quietly, "What's wrong?" but didn't get an answer.

Martin was pushed out onto the stage, and he stumbled. He managed to catch himself while the crowd laughed at his bumbling appearance. The flashing lights blinded him, disoriented him. He was so stunned, he didn't know what was going on, where he was at at the moment.

Oskar guided him to the chair, sitting him down. "Martin," he cooed lightly. "Martin, you look like you've just seen a ghost! Tell me, boy, what's got you so pale?"

Martin blinked at him. "I..."

The sudden silence settled on him, making him feel like a twenty pound rock was on his back. "I..."

He looked up, up over the crowd, where he could see his face on giant screens. He stared at them, and they stared back with gaunt, dull eyes, full of pain and misery.

Finally, he managed to mutter into the microphone Oskar was holding out for him, "My dad just died."

"Oh..." said Osakr, sympathetically. "I'm so sorry, Martin."

It wasn't real sympathy. It was the common phrase everyone used when faced with the death of an individual they didn't know. Oskar didn't care, not really.

Finally, the news hit Martin, crushing his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes. He buried his face in his hands, desperate to hide from the millions of people watching him. He wished he could disappear. He wished the ground would swallow him whole. He sobbed into his hands, wishing he was anywhere but here.

The crowd made a distressing noise, and Martin wished they would all just  _shut up_.

Oskar patted his back. He kept his voice gentle as he spoke, but Martin didn't listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I'd planned to show every district with characters from the show, but I ran out of women characters by like, district seven.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the night was a blur.

By the end of it, Martin found himself laying on his bed, staring at the wall. Tomorrow he was going have to face and kill twenty-four children, and all he could think about was his dad.

It was bad enough his family will have to watch Martin possibly be killed on television, but now this? Their mother had already suffered a serious injury in her hand a few years back, and now was physically unable to provide for the family. Simon was old enough to work, Caitlin will be too in a few years. Logically, they'll be fine. That was assuming none of them got sick or hurt.

Martin got to say goodbye to his father, on that day of the Reaping. Hugged him, cried lightly into his chest. He knew that may have been the last time he was going to see his dad... and yet he  _didn't know it would be the last he'd see him_.

He thought... perhaps... he would be able to see his dad one last time. A picture or something. Not this.

Martin buried his face in his pillow, trying to stop the oncoming tears. He cried enough tonight.

"Martin?"

He could see Nancy's shadow on the wall, but he didn't want to turn over to face her. She didn't come into his room. She kept her distance by the doorframe. "Yes?" Martin asked, hating the way his voice cracked. "What is it?"

He thought she was going to mock him, laugh at him, kick him while he was down.

Instead, she whispered, "I'm sorry about your dad."

And that was it. She moved away, her shadow disappearing. Her footsteps padded down the hallway to her room.


	7. Chapter 7

They gave him a jacket, loose clothing, and running shoes. The shoes weren't broken in, and they pinched irritably against his toes. In a few minutes the pain wasn't going to matter. He was either going to run for his life, pain be damned, or fight for it.

Martin stared at the little tube that was going to bring him to his fate. He was trembling. This was ridiculous, why was he here? Why were they doing this? For fuck's sake, two weeks ago he was helping his sister with her reading. This wasn't a game, this was  _murder_. People were going to watch him be murdered.

"Martin."

Peter was standing behind him. Martin immediately raised an arm to wipe at his face, not wishing to be seen crying. If he was going to die, he might as well try to  _look_  like a man. "Yes?"

"I know these past few days I've been tough on you. I know I haven't given you the most confidence."

"Understatement of the century."

"But if there's one thing I've learned in all the years of the game is, everyone loves an underdog. Your strength is your weakness, Martin. Use it. Exploit it."

"What are you talking about?" Martin said, almost disgusted that Peter chose  _now_  to give him advice. Where was all of this in beginning of his training?

"The announcement of your father's death has gotten you sympathy votes. I suggest when you're in the arena, be sure you give mention to your father. It'll tug on heartstrings, I'll guarantee it."

Martin gaped at him. "You... is that why you told me of my dad's death just before I went on stage? To get  _sympathy_?"

"I did it to help save your life!"

Peter suddenly grabbed Martin by the shoulders, his fingers painfully digging in deep. "Hate me later," he hissed. "But now, you exploit the fact that people want you to survive. That it could make some of the Tributes hesitate before cutting you down. Besides Arthur, you're the youngest-looking Tribute here. Your innocence is your strength. Use it, win and come back. Then you can punch me in the face."

Peter then stepped back. With one last nod to Martin, Peter swept out the door, allowing the Peacekeepers in.

The Peacekeepers weren't carrying guns, but they carried electric batons in case Martin tried to bolt. They pointed to the tube and motioned to Martin to get in it. Feeling like a cow walking into a slaughterhouse, Martin stepped into the tube. It shut behind him with a hiss.

He jerked as the tube began to rise, taking him to the surface. (Oh God, he wasn't ready.) Sunlight streamed in, making him wince. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and by the time the tube stopped moving, he was surrounded by other Tributes.

All twenty-four, side by side, on their own pedestals. Up ahead, in the middle of a giant open field was the Cornucopia. Martin remembered seeing this in past games. From where he stood he could see backpacks full of supplies, ready to be grabbed. He could also see weapons hanging off the walls. Could he be fast enough to sprint across there without someone plunging an axe into his face?

No, he couldn't. He could see in the faces of some of the other Tributes. They going to go for the Cornucopia and it was going to be a bloodbath.

Above them, they started the ten second countdown.

Nancy was next to him, in her own tube, but she wasn't looking at him. She was too busy focusing on the Cornucopia. She braced herself, bending low to take off in a sprint. Mirroring her stance, Martin waited for the Games to begin.

The whistle blew and they were off.


	8. Chapter 8

Martin ran for the forest. His one and only thought was to get away, away from everybody. If he didn't move swiftly, someone bigger than him could easily choke him to death. They didn't need an axe to kill him.

He saw a few others had the same idea, and they all took off in different directions. He saw Arthur, the tiny boy from District six, running into the forest, nearly tripping over in his haste. Martin didn't see his sister. Maybe she was back at the Cornucopia?

It didn't matter, he was focusing on survival now. From behind he could hear the cries of battle, of pain, as the Tributes tore each other apart. He didn't need to be here anymore.

Martin broke through the line of trees, and kept going. He jumped over fallen logs, held up his arms as he ran past low tree branches scratching at his face. Water, he thought numbly. He needed to find a stream or a river. Once he found a reliable source of water, he could go from there.

He didn't stop running, not until he knew he was far enough from the other Tributes. At least his stamina was decent. He wondered how someone like Lesman from District One was going to survive. Martin saw him running on the treadmill last week and Lesman was huffing heavily only after fifteen seconds.

After two minutes of hard sprinting, Martin slowed. He stared behind him, wondering if anybody followed him. If they did, he hoped they were as tired as he was. When there were no signs of pursuit, he slumped his back against the shady side of a tree trunk and slid down to his butt. He leaned his head against his knee, trying to slow his breathing. It would do him no good if someone overheard his harsh gasps for air.

He jumped when the sudden sound of a cannon went off. That's right, the announcement of a dead Tribute.

Martin counted them. Maybe a good chunk of them were gone. It has happened before. Martin remembered when they used to supply grenades in the bags at the Cornucopia. A Tribute had set a whole bag of them off by accident and took out more than half of the Tributes, including themselves. The Capitol never did that again.

The cannon ended at nine. Only nine Tributes dead out of twenty-four. Martin would not know who was dead until later on tonight when they announced it in the sky.


	9. Chapter 9

Martin eventually found a river. It was a good fifteen feet across, perhaps ten feet deep. Down the way he could see the current getting stronger, white bubbles splashing almost violently over unseen rocks and hidden dips.

He wondered if the Game Makers would be so cruel and poison the water. In an environment like this, he highly doubted it. A forest like this meant poisonous plants, or dangerous animals. Bending down to his knees, Martin cupped water with both of his hands. He smelled it first, considered it safe, and quenched his thirst. A part of him was tempted to strip and take a bath. He did not for two good reasons: he didn't want to be caught naked by another Tribute; Martin certainly didn't want to die naked.

And he didn't want to give the Capitol a show. Well, not that type of show.

Instead Martin cleaned his hands and washed his face of the little cuts he gained from running through the forest. Damn him if he died from an infected scratch. He wished he had a canteen on him to collect water. It would also be terrible if he died from dehydration. Maybe he should have risked the slaughter to grab a backpack.

He wondered if any of the other Tributes could swim. The river was deep enough, maybe if he could lure someone in and let their inexperience take over. He dipped his fingers into the water, feeling the strength of the current. It wasn't strong.

He looked down towards where the water got rougher, and decided to see how rough it actually got. It was unlikely Martin was going to come across a Tribute who couldn't swim. His best best was to throw someone into the current and let it overpower them.

Martin followed the river, pausing every few moments to listen to the forest around him. He didn't want to be caught unawares because the rushing water was too loud for him.

The river got rougher and rougher by the foot. And at the end of it, a rushing waterfall cascaded over a cliff. Martin didn't dare go near it, too afraid he'll lose his footing and fall in. Now he knew what was here, he could plan accordingly.

He heard crying.

Martin twirled around, defenses raised, unsure of what to expect. Was there fighting nearby? He should run, get out of here before someone sees him. He took two steps, then stopped when he heard the crying again. It sounded... young. Very young.

Maybe it was a trick? Someone fake-crying to lure him out?

Except the noise was coming from near the cliff face. Slowly, Martin inched his way towards it, throwing constant looks over his shoulder, making sure nobody was going to come up behind him and push him over.

Cautiously, he looked over the edge.

At least three feet down, hanging precariously off the side was little Arthur. The only thing keeping him from falling down the fifty foot ledge was an exposed tree root he held onto. Arthur didn't see Martin as he was too busy crying his eyes out.

"Mum..." He wailed, clutching the root tightly. "Mum...!"

Martin didn't even hesitate. "Hey!" He cried out, getting down to his stomach and stretching an arm out. "Hey, kid! Grab my hand!"

Arthur looked up to him, and nearly flinched away so hard, he almost let go of the root. "NO!"

"Arthur," Martin pleaded. "Arthur, please, I am not going to hurt you! C'mon, grab my hand!"

Shakily, Arthur released one grip from the root and reached up towards Martin. Martin grabbed that small hand, and in one smooth move, dragged Arthur up. The boy was thankfully light. With Arthur clutched against his chest, Martin moved away from the edge of the cliff.

Arthur cried into his shoulder, arms wrapped around his torso, fingers digging in deep into Martin's back. Holding Arthur was no different than holding Caitlin after she'd been woken up by a frightening thunderstorm. Martin rubbed Arthur's back soothingly, letting him cry it out. "I got you. I got you..."


	10. Chapter 10

It took forever to calm Arthur down. He refused to let go of Martin, his hands tightening every time Martin even considered shifting Arthur to a more comfortable position. Once Martin was finally able to coax Arthur off of him, he took the boy up stream to where the water was calmer, washed his face and had him drink.

"Why were you over that cliff?"

Arthur scowled miserably as his wiped his hands dry on his trousers. "Someone... pushed me over."

"Someone  _threw_  you down there?" Martin hissed. Yeah, the whole point of the Games was to kill each other, but for god's sake, surely there would be  _some_  hesitation for a twelve year old boy. "Who was it?"

"That boy from District one," Arthur said. "The fat one."

Martin couldn't help but look around warily, fearing Lesman was still in the vicinity. "How long ago was this?"

Arthur shrugged. "Dunno. A while. He waited to see if I would let go, but got bored and wandered off."

"We should probably leave then. Just in case he's nearby."

Martin didn't want to leave the water source, but other choice did he have? He could always come back, or find another stream. He helped Arthur to his feet, and with his small hand in his, they started walking back into the depths of the forest.

A sudden shudder in a pair of bushes had Martin freeze in place. He stared intently at the bushes, wondering if it was an animal or simply the wind-

A Tribute suddenly burst from the bushes, screaming his head off, welding a broadsword in his hands. He ran towards Martin and Arthur, holding the sword high, ready to swing it down.

"Arthur, run!" Martin yelled, pushing him away. He didn't even bother to see if Arthur took his advice. Martin ran forward and threw himself at the Tribute around his torso, catching him off guard. The Tribute made an "Oomf!" sound as they both fell to the ground, limbs tangling. The Tribute lost his hold on the sword as they rolled over and over one another, trying to get the upper hand.

The boy was larger than Martin, taller, but Martin was quicker, jabbing his fists into every available spot he could get to. He also bit the Tribute quite a number of times, his teeth chomping down into the boy's arm every time it got near Martin's face.

It couldn't last. The boy suddenly rolled right on top of Martin, pinning him to the ground. His hands wrapped themselves around Martin's neck, fingers tightening quickly.

Martin weakly pounded his fists against the boy's arm. The boy merely tightened his grip, gave Martin's head a good shake, his teeth gritted in determination. As Martin's eyes rolled to the back of his head, he was already too far gone to even give one final thought to himself.

A moment later, the pressure and the hands were gone.

Martin  _heaved_ , his body desperate for oxygen, coughing and gasping, feeling like he was dying all over again. To the side of him, the Tribute boy laid dead, his own sword sticking out from his back.

Martin blinked, and standing in front of him was Carolyn, her hands on her hips, staring down at him disapprovingly. "So you're Martin. I suppose this makes us even."


	11. Chapter 11

Martin did his best not to think of what just happened. He didn't want to think of how close he'd nearly died. He didn't want to look at the spot where the Tribute's body had laid only a few minutes ago. The body had already been picked up and carried off, but the blood stain was still there, drying silently on the grass.

"Here," said Carolyn, dropping the dead Tribute's backpack in front of Martin. Martin grimaced. He didn't even know the Tribute's name. "You can keep his stuff. And this is where we part. The next time I see you, I will kill you. Arthur, come."

Arthur awkwardly stood on his spot, glancing between his older sister and Martin. "But... mum! Martin helped me!"

"And I repaid him back. Let's go, Arthur."

"No! We can trust him!"

Carolyn threw Martin a dirty accusing look, as if Martin had somehow  _tricked_  Arthur into becoming his ally against his sister's will. Martin held up his hands in defense, and quietly moved away, collecting the backpack. He should leave before Carolyn decided keeping him alive was too much of a risk to take.

Just as he picked up the backpack and slugged it around his shoulders, Arthur ran right into him, hugging his waist. "You said we need to make allies!" Arthur said stubbornly, gripping Martin tighter. "And Martin's mine!"

Martin saw Carolyn's face, saw how she was slowly coming to some unknown decision. He didn't want to know what conclusion she was coming to. He pulled Arthur's arms away from him, his stomach clutching in guilt as Arthur's confused, hurt face stared up at him. "You listen to your... mum, Arthur. I'm sure we'll meet each other again."

God, Martin hoped not.

Despite his reluctance, Arthur allowed himself to be steered away by Carolyn. As they disappeared into the foliage of the forest, he was still looking back at Martin.

Once they were gone, Martin began to search through the backpack to see what supplies Carolyn had left for him. He was glad she didn't decide she was going to take some as a prize. He would let her too.

In the bag he had an empty canteen. One box of matches. A small knife, only an inch long. Some rope. And a pocket mirror.

Martin opened the pocket mirror. In his reflection he saw the stark purple bruises around his neck. He touched them gingerly, wincing as the simple press of his fingers was enough to be painful.

Off in the distance, a cannon was heard, signaling another Tribute dead. Taking that as a sign of his staying by the water for too long, Martin quickly filled his canteen, and took off in the opposite direction of Carolyn.


	12. Chapter 12

That night, as Martin scooted himself deeper behind a fallen tree, the sky lit up with the faces of the fallen Tributes.

He waited in anticipation, wondering whose faces would be up there. His encounter with Arthur happened over six hours ago. Anything could've happened since.

First was the Tribute who had tried to kill Martin. District Three. Without meaning to, Martin looked away, not wishing to see the name of the boy. He would deal with that another time, but not now.

Nine more faces appeared, one right after another. Some of them Martin recognized, others he didn't. Out of twenty-four, only ten had died today. In a morbid thought, Martin blanched,  _That's it?_

None of the fallen were from District One. At least Martin didn't see Nancy, Arthur or Carolyn up on that screen. These games never lasted longer than six days. It was only a matter of time till he saw their faces up there. Or when  _his_  face showed.

Once the announcement ended and the music faded away, Martin leaned his head against his backpack. He closed his eyes, shivering in the cold, and hoped nobody found him in the middle of the night. He purposely refused to start a fire because of this.

He was only awaken once by the sound of a canon a few hours later. Instead of wondering who it was or where it came from, he grunted, rolled over and went back to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Warning** : Gore

 

Martin wondered if the audience was finding him boring. He hasn't done anything interesting in the past couple of hours, except looked for food and avoided the other Tributes. Maybe if he was lucky, the Gamemakers were too busy focusing on the others to really care about him.

He knew that indifference wouldn't last long. The Gamemakers weren't allowed to have favourites. Sooner or later they were going to send someone or something after him.

Martin stopped in his tracks. A strange scent was in the air. It was familiar, sharp and uncomfortable. The smell stuck to the back of his throat, making his cheeks pinch.

Blood.

Martin dropped to the ground. He didn't hear a canon go off recently. Perhaps this was it, this was what the Gamemakers were waiting for. Martin pulled out his knife. His small, one-inch knife. This was going to be the stupidest, dumbest, shortest fight in Hunger Games history.

He waited. And waited.

When nothing happened, when he heard nothing, Martin frowned and stood up. He sniffed again and- yup, that was definitely blood. Where was it coming from? Curiosity was getting the better of him and he quietly crept through the forest to see what it was.

That's how he found Nancy.

She was propped up against a tree. She was still alive, Martin could see, her breathing jagged and harsh. One hand was draped across her stomach, limp. Even from this distance, he could see someone had cut open her stomach, spilling her intestines.

This had to be a trick. Someone left her there to draw him out, to ambush him.

Nancy was already dead. In another five minutes or so, she was going to bleed out. There was no point in staying. Martin should leave.

He didn't move from his spot. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, feeling every harsh breath that rattled out of her mouth. She was suffering. Five minutes could feel like five years. He couldn't just leave her there.

But what if his one act of mercy was what got him killed?

No. Even thought they weren't friends, she was still from home.

Nancy didn't even register Martin was there until he was kneeling in front of her. He reached out, touched her hand as gently as he could.

"Martin..." Nancy garbled, blood dribbling out of her mouth. "Martin..."

"Shhh, don't talk."

"No... I have to... I have to... oh god, I'm so sorry," she sobbed weakly. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to treat you... like that but... I was so scared. I was so scared and I just wanted to go home."

Tear stung at Martin's eyes. Did she truly had any intentions of killing him? Was it really all an act? "It's okay."

"The District One boy did this to me," Nancy gasped. Her voice was getting softer by the second. "Be careful, Martin. He has no heart."

Nancy lived for another two minutes. Martin stayed with her, holding her hand, quietly telling her short stories about his brother and sister. He didn't let go until he heard the canon boom.


	14. Chapter 14

Finally, as Martin predicted, the Gamemakers decided to do something with him.

At least they waited till he was done using the toilet. If he were to die, he didn't want to die with his trousers around his ankles and covered in his own filth. As soon as he was done using the bush and his trousers were over his hips, a boar came barreling out of the woods towards him.

Martin didn't have enough time to dodge. The boar knocked him onto his back, sinking its teeth right into his arm. Martin gave out a wail as the boar wrung its head from side to side, like a dog with a toy. Blood poured of it mouth as its teeth dug in deeper, tearing flesh apart.

Through the pain, Martin scrabbled for his pocket where he kept the knife. It was small, it was pathetic, but it was something. He took the knife, flipped it opened, and stuck it in the boar's eye.

The boar squealed something awful, and it wrung back, releasing Martin's arm. The knife was still in its eye as it trampled backwards, shaking its head violently to dispel it. With a groan, Martin got his feet and ran in the other direction.

His left arm was dead at his side, blood dripping off of it in large droplets, littering the ground. The pain was a dull, faraway thing, adrenaline blocking everything. He could hear the beast behind him, growling and squealing.

The Gamemakers weren't done with him, not with that one boar. Martin could hear three more pursuing him from all sides, their hooves thundering, squealing so loudly they might as well be standing next to him.

He was bleeding too much. He needed to pause, to sit down and dress his wound, but he didn't dare slow down. The moment he did the pigs were going to be on him in a second. His pack bounced annoyingly against his back and he wanted to shrug it off. He almost did, forgetting he needed the pack to live.

A boar came from his left, catching him off-guard, slamming right into him, crushing his already bleeding arm. Martin fell, crashed to the forest floor, his open mouth splattered with blood and dirt. The boar who knocked into him bit him on his side, making him scream.

The other two boars caught up and started attacking his legs.

"NO! NO! NO!"

Martin kicked out, his mind in blind panic, unable to coordinate which boar to fend off. All of them were biting down hard, spilling blood, ripping the flesh off of him-

There was a noise like a stick cutting through air, and the boar biting down on Martin's right leg slumped dead to the ground. An arrow was sticking out of its side.

The noise was heard again, twice more in quick succession. The second boar by his leg fell next, half of its heavy body landing right on Martin's leg, and lastly the boar biting his side reared back in muted surprise. An arrow stuck out of its mouth, and as it tried to reach up with its hoof to dispel it, a last arrow imbedded itself into its eye, killing it finally.

Martin shook uncontrollably on the ground, blood spilling off his fingers in large droplets. He was nearly hyperventilating, horrified to look down upon himself and see the fatty tissue of his leg spew out. In front of him, a boy walked into view, bow and arrow in hand.

"D-Douglas..." Martin gasped. "P-p-p-please, no..."

Douglas notched an arrow, pulled it back and pointed it straight at Martin.


	15. Chapter 15

"NO, DON'T, PLEASE!"

"ARTHUR, WAIT!"

Martin expected to die right there. Douglas had the arrow pointed straight at him, right at his heart. It would kill him instantly. Douglas would not miss.

Just as Martin closed his eyes, not wishing to see an arrow go through them, Arthur came barreling from the left, throwing himself right in front of Martin. "Don't," Arthur pleaded. "Don't hurt him. Please."

Douglas didn't waver. He kept the arrow notched, pointing.

Carolyn came running out, and when she saw Douglas, her head whipping to notice the arrow was aimed at Arthur, she tugged out her sword. "You shoot him, I'll kill you."

Martin didn't have the energy to tell her Douglas would shoot them all dead before she took one step.

Amazingly, Douglas lowered his bow. He kept the arrow notched, and backed away. Carolyn inched closer and closer to Arthur, sword still raised, and once Douglas was out of view, she sheathed her weapon and ran over. "Arthur, you idiot boy! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Martin's hurt! Mum, help me!" He was bending down and trying to pull the boar off of Martin's body.

"No, Arthur, leave him."

"No, we can't! Mum, please..."

Despite his pleas, Carolyn was trying to tug Arthur away. He was crying, trying to push off her hands, and he kept reaching back, smearing his fingers in Martin's blood.

"P-p-please..." Martin begged. "I don't want to die like this..."

Maybe it was Arthur's pleading. Maybe it was the way Martin said it, but something in Carolyn _broke_. She stared down at Martin, and saw nothing more than a scared little boy who didn't want to die. Her hands went limb, allowing Arthur to dash back forward to lift the boar off. After a moment, she went to help him.

 

 

 

 

 

Martin was in and out of consciousness for the next few hours. He vaguely remembered Carolyn dressing his wounds, Arthur giving him water, and rubbing a cold, damp, rag against his forehead. When he woke he always cried out softly, asking for his mother. Carolyn shushed him and told him to go back to sleep.

When he woke again, he found Arthur wrapped around him once more, sleeping. It looked like they were in some sort of low-hanging cave. If he stood up straight, Martin would have to duck to avoid scratching his head on the ceiling.

"You're very lucky," Carolyn said, off to the side. "How did you get sponsors?"

At Martin's confusion, Carolyn pointed to a container on the floor, attached to a parachute. "Someone sent you medicine. I guess you're a popular boy now."

Sponsors? How _did_ Martin get sponsors, he didn't do anything. He wasn't good-looking, he wasn't fast or strong or popular. Surely it was a mistake.

"I hope you don't mind," Carolyn said. "I raided your pack. Arthur already ate the berries you collected."

A twinge of annoyance grew inside of Martin. It took him forever to collect those berries, stabbing his fingers on the tiny thorns of the vines. He said nothing though. He should be grateful for Carolyn's help, not angry she and Arthur helped themselves to his food. He licked his dry lips. "Is Douglas...?"

"The District Seven boy?" Carolyn said. "No, he didn't follow us."

He could've easily killed them all. Why didn't he kill them? "Thank you..." said Martin. "For not leaving me..."

Carolyn sighed. "You don't make it easy. You're such a pretty-looking boy, you look almost as young as Arthur."

 _Hey_. Martin couldn't help but scowl at the her description of him.

Though it did prompt a thought into his head. A question that had been plaguing him since the interviews. "Why does Arthur call you _mum_? You're not really...?"

This time it was Carolyn's turn to make a face. " _No_ , you clot," she huffed. "Our mother died when we were young. With my father constantly working, I was the one who looked after Arthur. I fed him, I clothed him, I raised him. So naturally I got stuck with the title."

Martin couldn't help but smile. "That's sort of sweet."

"Really? Sounds pathetic to me."

She didn't sound like she meant it. "Go to back to sleep," she said. "I'll be here when you two wake up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just be aware, next chapter is when things really take a turn for the worst. Fair warning.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Major character death

He was going to have scars. Ugly, fat ones on his arms and legs. Martin stared at the bruised, red, healing, scabs on his arms, grimacing how gross they looked. Martin has never suffered an injury like this before. Besides the callouses on his hands and the stretch marks on his back, Martin bore no deep scars.

"Don't worry so much about them," Arthur said. Martin barely understood him, his mouth was filled with rabbit meat. "Girls like scars."

"Arthur, what do you know about girls?" Carolyn asked.

"I heard it from Terry!"

"Hmph. Well, when we get back, I'm going have to have a word with him."

This wasn't the first time Martin heard Carolyn talk as if she planned both she and Arthur were going home. Arthur didn't seem to notice, but every time Carolyn said such a thing, Martin ducked his head to hide his frown.

Arthur was young, not an idiot. Even as young as _four_ Martin knew only one person would be allowed to survive the games. Did Arthur truly believe in his heart they were all going to make it out alive?

"Oh, Arthur, don't eat those."

Carolyn lightly slapped Arthur's hand away from a small growing patch of strawberries.

"Why not?" Martin asked, reaching over and plucking a strawberry for himself. He bit into it, savouring the sweet taste. Hardly he ever got a chance to eat such a thing back home. "They're not poisonous."

"To Arthur it is," Carolyn said. "He's allergic."

Arthur giggled. "Found that out when mum made strawberry cake for my birthday!"

"If you know you're allergic, then why did you still reach for them?"

"Because maybe this time I wouldn't be!"

They continued to talk in good humour, finishing off the rabbit and Martin taking the berries for himself. As of the moment they didn't have a plan of attack. Carolyn seemed content to avoid all Tributes as possible and let them kill each other off in the process.

As Arthur went off to the side to relieve himself by a bush, Martin went up to Carloyn and whispered to her, "Have the Gamemakers already played with you yet?"

Carolyn was startled by his question. "What?"

"They can't have favourites. At some point they're going to try to separate you two or killed in the process."

Carolyn's eyes grew wide. The horror in them made her look older. "Nothing so far," she said quietly, fearfully. "Do you think they'll try something soon?"

"Maybe. I suggest you keep your ears and eyes open. They threw _pigs_ at me. Who knows what they'll throw at you."

The way Carolyn trembled told Martin everything about their experiences here in the Games. They had it too easy, they were too boring, and soon someone was going to decide to spice it up for them.

A few years back, a pair of twins found themselves in the Games. They did their best to survive, working together against the others, but the Gamemakers added _sinkholes_ to the environment and one twin fell into one, severely breaking his leg. The hole was too deep for rescue and the girl made the difficult decision to throw down a knife, her only defense weapon, for the boy to use on himself so he wouldn't have to die a slow, painful death.

In the end the girl was attacked just as she threw away her only weapon, and the brother was forced to listen to her screams as he sat in the hole, useless.

They played that clip every year.

"Arthur!" Carolyn said loudly, turning her head towards her little brother. "We're leaving, _now_. Arthur?"

The boy had been peeing only a few feet away from them. He was gone.

"ARTHUR!"

Carolyn ran to her pack, grabbing her sword, but Martin didn't need to pause. All he had on him was his lousy little knife, and he ran off without her, eyes scanning for the boy. He found Arthur only ten seconds later.

Ruth, the District One girl, held Arthur in a deep grip, with one arm across the boy's torso, her other hand slapped across Arthur's mouth. Martin thought she was trying to keep him from screaming.

Arthur was struggling, kicking, but she was too big for him, too strong. Red liquid spilled out from behind the girl's hand, dribbling down her knuckles and splattering to the forest floor- was Arthur biting her?

"Let him go!" Martin yelled out, holding out the weapon threateningly. "Leave him alone!"

Ruth grinned, held on tighter-

And that's when Carolyn burst out from behind her, swinging the sword. In one swipe, she took Ruth's head off.

The cannon boomed before her head hit the ground.

Arthur stumbled forward, his entire mouth and chin red. He fell to his knees, gasping, gagging, grabbing at his throat, struggling for breath. "Arthur!" Carolyn screamed, dropping the bloody sword and going to him. "What's wrong? Tell me, what's wrong?"

Martin kneeled down to him, and a sickly, sweet smell filled his nostrils.

Strawberries. Ruth had force-fed strawberries to Arthur.

"Oh god no..." Carolyn said, shoving her fingers into Arthur's mouth to scoop out whatever's left. "Vomit, Arthur! C'mon, just throw it up, honey..."

Arthur's face was swelling at a horrible rate. His breathing became worse, every gasp sounding like the rattle of a marble in a tin can.

Martin looked up to the skies. "PLEASE! SEND MEDICINE!"

He was screaming to his sponsors. They sent medicine once, they could do it again. He knew everyone was watching him right now, all eyes were on him, on Arthur. Surely there was one person who could sympathise. "HE'S JUST A BOY!" He begged after a moment of silence. "PLEASE!"

**_BOOM!_ **

At the sound of the cannon, Martin was rendered into silence. Slowly, he turned to face Carolyn, who was looking at him with equal horror. "No..." said Carolyn, brushing the hair out of Arthur's face. "No... No, honey... Arthur... say something, sweetie."

"Carolyn-"

"Sweetie, please... say something for mummy..."

Arthur didn't move, didn't breath. His eyes were forced shut due to the swelling.

"No..." Carolyn pulled him close, clutching his body fiercely. "No... Not like this... Please."

 

 

 

 

 

"Take what you can from my pack, Martin. Then go."

"Carolyn..."

Arthur was laid out on the ground, his hands placed over his chest. Carolyn refused to move from her spot, staring down at him.

"I raised him, Martin," she said quietly. "I have done everything for him. I fed him, I clothed him, I soothed his wounds and his nightmares. When I volunteered, I swore I would do anything for him. I'd kill for him, I'd _die_ for him. I... I never once considered... living without him. Thank you for helping us, Martin. Go. Turn, and walk away. Don't look back."

Martin opened his mouth, desperate to say something, anything, to get her to come with him. Carolyn wasn't moving, and Martin knew nothing in this world could make her do so.

He stood up, gave one last look over to Arthur (small Arthur, who had missing teeth, a bubbling laugh, who cried into Martin's shirt, thanking him over and over) and walked away.

When the cannon boomed two minutes later, Martin took off in a full sprint, hoping those at home wouldn't see him cry.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major Character death, body horror and gore.

That night, as they announced those who died, Martin forced himself to watch. In some ways he felt like a murderer, who left Carolyn behind, who let Arthur die. If only he paid more attention, if only he ran faster, was a bit more clever. Less than a few days ago he pulled that boy up, wiped his tears from his cheeks and reunited him with his sister.

Quietly Martin counted those who died, numbingly ticking them off his fingers. Birling from District Eleven died. Kieran from District Two. That girl with the strange name, Shi-shi-buski, from District Ten.

They showed Arthur's picture. Tears silently poured out from Martin's eyes as he counted him. Carolyn's pictured followed right after.

The music ended.

There were still a good number of Tributes left, including Douglas.

 

 

 

 

For the next two days, Martin hid. With his scavenging skills, he managed to gather enough food to last him for a whole week without needing to leave his little hiding hole. He must be boring to the audience.

Occasionally he would flinch at the sudden boom of a faraway cannon, signaling another fallen Tribute. At night he didn't bother to crawl out to see who had died. At this point, he didn't care. He felt numb to everything around him. He ate, he slept, mostly he sat stupidly, staring off into space.

On the third day when he sneaked out of his hiding place to gather more water from a small babbling brook nearby, he found it to be bone dry. He touched the dirt to ensure it wasn't just his imagination. There wasn't even mud.

So this was it. The Gamemakers were all forcing whoever was left into one final bloody confrontation. It didn't matter if Martin wanted to go or not. If he stayed, he would most certainly be attacked by something with no chance of fighting it off. He'd seen it dozens of times. The audience wanted to see blood and this was their chance to give it to them for the last time this year.

Martin ate and drank the last of his reserves. He got rid of things he didn't need to carry anymore like his empty water pouch and his night goggles. Useless weight.

With his small knife out, Martin started trekking through the forest, unsure where he'll turn up. Maybe the others will kill each other off without him. Knowing his luck, that won't be the case.

An hour later, he found himself back at the beginning of the Games.

The Cornucopia was empty, devoid of weapons and anything of use. There were dry blood stains on the wall, on the grass, evidence of an old fight. Most likely from the first day slaughter.

Wasn't he expected to have the final confrontation here? If so, where was everyone?

He heard a whistling noise, like the hissing of a cat, and suddenly his arm exploded in pain. He staggered forward, the pain so intense he thought he might faint. He turned his head and saw an arrow sticking out of his left arm, blood pouring out of it rapidly.

He looked up in the direction of the shooter, thinking wildly it was Douglas.

It was the fat boy from District One. Lesman.

Lesman had a bow in his hand, and he lowered his arm, surprise on his face as if he didn't think he would hit Martin from such a distance. He then grinned in a twisted manner, satisfied in his shot.

Martin fell to the ground, crying out in agony. His arm was dead at his side, but the weight of the arrow shaft pulled down, tearing into his flesh.

Get it out, he thought feverishly. Get it out, get it out, _get it out-_

With his right hand, he grasped the shaft. Oh god, oh GOD-

He ripped it out of his arm before he bothered to think about it any further. It felt worse going out.

He flinched back as another arrow landed right next him, missing his foot by a few inches. Another arrow flew right by him, missing him by a good fifteen feet. He fell onto his back, unable to move any further, gasping, waiting for another arrow to pierce him.

Lesman was cursing, his arm up, reaching back to the empty quiver. All he had were three arrows?

He spat, and shrugged off the quiver from his shoulder. He changed his grip on the shaft of the bow, holding it with both hands, and started coming towards Martin in large strides.

He was going to beat Martin to death.

Martin tried to get up, to run away, but his arm hurt too much. Beyond the pain, he felt nothing in his arm. Not his fingers, not the blood trickling down. It was nothing more than a useless bag of flesh and bone at his side, dangling heavily.

Lesman was upon him, raising the bow above his head, ready to bring it down-

To Martin's left was the arrow he pulled out. It was drenched in his blood, bits of his clothes were still attached to it, but it was sharp. Summoning the last of his strength, he reached over with his right arm, grasped the arrow, turned and-

He shoved the arrow head upwards, right into Lesman's neck.

It was a horrible sensation, the feel of arrow hitting something solid with a certain amount of _give_. Lesman had been rushing towards him, reaching down as Martin shoved up, unintentionally empaling himself upon the arrow. With a wet gasp, Lesman took a step back, and Martin released his grip from the shaft with a soft cry.

Lesman dropped his bow, his hand too limb to hold it anymore. He kept trying to breath, but instead every breath was a raspy, wet, gurgling gasp as blood poured from his neck, down his shirt.

He fell to his knees. His eyes rolled up to the back of his head. With one last wet wheeze, he keeled backwards.

The cannon boomed before he even hit the ground.

Martin too let his head fall back, gasping in relief. He couldn't believe it. He was alive. He made it. _He'd won the games._ Shouldn't the announcer say that now? End it already, you bastard...

"Ladies and Gentlemen," boomed the voice from above. "Now there are only two Tributes left!"

A cold horror pressed down upon Martin's chest. No, that wasn't right...

"The first is Martin Crieff, from District Six!"

With a painful cry, Martin pushed himself up on one elbow. He gasped.

"The other, Douglas Richardson, from District Seven!"

There he was, in full glory. He didn't look injured or tired or even _dirty_. Unlike Lesman, who only had a couple of arrows in his quiver, Douglas had a full set. Martin has seen Douglas shoot, there was no way he could miss.

Douglas advanced on him.

There was no escape. Martin was against a wall, his arm fucking useless, his head blurred by pain and blood loss. Catching Lesman by the throat was a pure miracle, there was no way he could stop Douglas with the same trick.

This was it. He was going to die.

With a tired little sob, Martin lowered his head back to the ground. How humiliating it was to be crying, knowing everyone at home was just waiting for him to die. Were they all trembling with anticipation? Knowing what was about his happen, did his mum leave the room so she didn't have to see?

Douglas was now standing over him. He stared down at Martin with an expressionless face.

"Please," Martin begged. "Make it quick."

Douglas placed down his quiver, reached to the side of his hip, and pulled out a knife from the holster strapped to his thigh. It was a hunting knife, designed to stab and cut efficiently. He kneeled down to Martin, blade at the ready, and in a move that surprised Martin, reached out and gently laid a hand on his cheek.

Like comforting a scared animal.

Then, in a quiet voice, spoken so softly Martin barely heard him, Douglas said-

" _I will make them all pay. I promise."_

He waited, waited for Martin to understand. The boy stared up at him, eyes wide, realization what Douglas meant dawning on him. With a tremble of his lip, Martin nodded.

By the time he registered the knife was in his heart, he was already too far gone to care.

 

 

 

 

 

"I GIVE YOU YOUR CHAMPION!"

The roaring crowd was deafening. The flashing lights itself was practically blinding, and Douglas swore this stupid suit he was wearing was going to give his neck a rash. He let none of those discomforts show on his face. He was here to play a part, to be their Champion, to let them fawn and scream.

He waved to the crowd, giving them a gracious smile.

 _Enjoy it while you can, you miserable wretches. The Revolution has already started and every single one of you will pay. I swear it upon the blood of these children. You will all_ pay _._


End file.
